Bruce tried to communicate with the entity inside his head, but there was no response.
Was it hibernating?
Or was there nothing there at all?
Bruce shook his head.
Then, Coach Jamie called him over to discuss the situation at USC.
As everyone knew, Stanford was a bottom-tier team in the Pacific Conference, whereas USC was a powerhouse.
Especially in the last two years, they had acquired Nick Young—a superstar player who could arguably be considered the greatest in the team’s history.
Nick Young joined USC last year and emerged as the team’s star player in his debut season.
This season, he has taken things a step further, becoming the Trojans’ leading scorer and rebounder; he is a lock for the All-Pac-10 First Team.
USC fans are already anticipating that he will surpass Harold’s single-season scoring record.
(Note: Harold was a two-time NBA Slam Dunk Contest champion nicknamed “Little Jordan,” though his NBA career was not particularly distinguished.) “He is guaranteed to be a lottery pick this year.
If he enters the draft, teams in the lower half of the NBA standings will be clamoring for him,” Jamie Lin explained.
“You could think of him as the NCAA’s version of Kobe.” Wow!
Bruce was amazed by this assessment.
That season, Kobe—playing without Shaq—was delivering one of the greatest scoring performances in NBA history.
He had already recorded twenty-five games with 40+ points and five games with 50+ points.
Just that January, he had posted the second-highest single-game score in history in Toronto: 81 points.
Prior to that, he had even scored 62 points in just three quarters against Dallas.
The media and fans alike were thrilled by this incredible scoring streak.
You know, he averaged 40 points per game in January and had at least three consecutive games with 40-plus points.
Good heavens!
Even Michael Jordan never had a run like that, and Jamie Lin dubbed Nick Young the “NCAA’s Kobe.” What a handful this little monster was.
Noticing Bruce’s grim expression, Jamie Lin quickly offered a reassuring comment: “However, he also inherited Kobe’s weaknesses—and he’s even less inclined to pass the ball than Kobe is.
He tends to get carried away, which is why USC is only ranked fourth in the Pacific Division.” Hearing this, Bruce breathed a sigh of relief.
“The day after tomorrow, your opponent is Gabe Pruitt.
Pruitt stands 193 cm tall and possesses extraordinary leaping ability and great physical strength; he frequently executes alley-oops.
He is a guard who relies on his physical attributes, though he also has the ability to drive to the basket and hit both mid-range and three-point shots.
However, he is prone to getting emotional and has a volatile temper.” “This isn’t good news for you.
The physical disparity between the two of you is significant, so I hope you minimize physical contact with him during the game to avoid potential injury.” Jamie Lin spoke with genuine concern.
Bruce nodded seriously.
His speed had improved drastically; he felt he could even compete with NBA stars known for their quickness, such as Iverson, TJ Ford, and Tony Parker.
Whoosh!
After team practice, the other players left the gym.
Exams were approaching, and these student-athletes were rushing back to study.
Bruce, however, had no such worries.
Given his intellect—having gained admission to Harvard before the age of 17—passing exams was a breeze.
So, he stayed behind in the gym.
At first, he worked on his ball-handling skills.
His speed had improved significantly, though his ball control had dipped slightly.
Had his control been what it used to be, Chris Patt would surely have been knocked down more than once during their match that day.
It is worth noting that back when Bruce played in the Ivy League, the Harlem Globetrotters—America’s most famous streetball team—had invited him to join their national tour.
Next, he moved on to shooting practice.
His shot remained inconsistent; even without a defender, his accuracy fluctuated.
The team’s strength and conditioning coach had told him that this instability stemmed from insufficient muscle mass and that his shot would gradually stabilize as his strength improved.
After an hour of practice, he was drenched in sweat.
Yet, after a half-hour break, he rushed back to the gym, panting, and began lifting weights…
However, given his current stamina and muscle mass, he could only start at the lowest intensity.
The strength and conditioning coach even joked, “You don’t look like an athlete at all; even an average person is stronger than you!” This assessment didn’t shake his confidence.
He tried various methods—such as increasing his food intake and altering his diet—which were effective but yielded very little in terms of results.
This prompted his mother, Professor Wang Junzhu—a leading expert in the life sciences—to lash out: “I am truly ashamed of this.
Having grown up in a scientific environment, don’t you realize this is determined by your genes?
I am very thin, and your father is frail.
Did you think you could grow into a giant like Schwarzenegger?
I absolutely loathe that ‘Foolish Old Man Who Moved the Mountains’ mentality of yours.
You need to understand that there are no gods in America, and even if there were, they couldn’t move two mountains for you overnight!
Come back before it’s too late; return to the fold of the life sciences—even if it’s just to become a physics professor like your father!
Your talent doesn’t lie there!” But what Professor Wang Junzhu didn’t know was that her son had inherited her stubbornness and unyielding spirit.
Bruce had heard similar remarks countless times on the basketball court—too many people claimed that Asians were only fit to be cheerleaders, unworthy of standing on the court.
Yet, he had persevered, and he would continue to do so.
*Whoosh!* After finishing his twelfth set of weightlifting, Bruce finally collapsed, gasping for air as sweat poured from every pore of his body…
*Ding-dong!* The voice in his head rang out again.
“Wow!
I didn’t expect you to shed ten thousand drops of sweat this quickly.
Congratulations—you’ve earned ten energy points and awakened me.
However, reaching this level will become increasingly difficult in the future.” “Next, I will extract talent from fallen players to replenish your active energy points!” The voice in his head spoke solemnly.
Bruce was slightly bewildered.
He didn’t understand what was meant by that.
Just then, the man claiming to be a bearer of positive energy began muttering fiercely to himself: “I hate players who squander their talent.
They smoke, drink, engage in promiscuous sex, use drugs, gamble…
living lives full of vice.
They ought to be stripped of their talent and end up as unemployed plumbers or homeless…
They don’t deserve any of this…” Hearing that fierce voice—which even carried a slight electronic, auto-tuned quality—swirling inside his head, Bruce was truly panicked.
He didn’t know what was happening to the man, and he didn’t dare ask.